Conversations in the Gravity Room
by meganechan720
Summary: Father-son bonding, Saiyan style.  A collection of conversations between Trunks and Vegeta taking place in the Gravity Room.
1. Seventeen, Part One

Vegeta flung his seventeen-year-old son into the chamber ahead of him, slamming the door and engaging a full lock down before turning to the boy, disgust written on his features.

"You are far too old to be acting like this, Trunks," he reprimanded, arms folded imperiously over his chest. The boy was already back on his feet, glaring at his father with undisguised fury.

"I could say the same to you," he growled, and Vegeta strode up to him and backhanded him across the face.

"Do not talk back to me, boy," he snarled, and Trunks swung at him. What ensued was not a fight, nor could it be considered sparring. It was not even so nice as wrestling. It was grappling, down and dirty fighting with no clear victor and no objective other than to inflict as much violence on your opponent as possible. Vegeta, who had experienced a very real fear that his son would someday surpass him upon learning that the boy could go Super Saiyan, had kept up his training to ensure that this did not happen. Trunks, on the other hand, had eventually lost his taste for real combat, and while he too had kept up his training, he had neglected the more bloodthirsty parts of his nature. Sparring was as serious as he ever got, and the anger he was allowing to fuel him now was only weakening him. Vegeta fought just above his son's level, suffering no damage and never relinquishing the upper hand.

When he found himself growing impatient he flipped Trunks over onto his back and planted a boot on his throat, just hard enough to signal to his son that this part of the discussion was over.

"No allowance for a month. No dates, no Goten, until I say otherwise. You will apologize to me, and you will apologize to your mother, and then you will sit in your room and contemplate how you are going to apologize to Bra, because for the life of me _I_ can't think of anything you could say to make this up to her. What the hell got into you?"

Trunks grimaced and tapped out, and Vegeta lifted his boot. His son sat up, but stayed on the floor, crossing his legs and tipping his head down such that his hair swung forward to curtain his face.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" he muttered.

"Sorry, boy, that would be you," Vegeta snarked, smirking. Trunks angled his head so that Vegeta could see one blue eye peering up at him.

"Is that why you like her better?" he asked softly, and he could tell Trunks had been careful to keep all inflection out of his voice.

"What?" he snapped, genuinely confused.

"It's okay dad," Trunks continued, still in that toneless voice, though he looked down again before continuing. "Everyone knows she's got you wrapped around her little finger. I was just curious, you know," and here his voice finally broke, just a little, and Vegeta could catch the bitterness underneath, "why, exactly."

Vegeta stared at his son for a long moment, before finally sighing deeply and rubbing his hand tiredly over his face.

"Are you telling me," he demanded in a low voice, "that you had a screaming fit in front of your entire family over a deleted television program, during which youwent_ Super Saiyan_, because you think I like your little sister _better_ than you?"

The atmosphere turned more awkward.

"Well, when you put it that way," Trunks cracked, trying for humor. Vegeta snorted in disgust.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he sneered. "Has Bra ever _once _seen the inside of this room?"

"No!" Trunks snapped. "And she's never going to, is she?"

"No, she is not!" Vegeta snapped back, now totally bewildered. "Make your point already!"

Trunks jumped to his feet. "I thought Saiyans didn't 'treat their women like china'!" Vegeta tightened his jaw, hating having his own words flung back in his face. "I thought they fought alongside the men!"

"So help me, if this is turning into one of your mother's feminist rants—" Vegeta interrupted.

"No!" Trunks' aura flared for a moment, lifting his feather-light hair into the air. "This is a 'why does my little sister get such blatant special treatment' rant?"

Vegeta was speechless for a moment. Then he slammed down the protective coldness around himself and wiped his face blank.

"If you think _not_ being allowed in here is such a sign of favor," he spat, words like ice, "Then consider yourself uninvited. You are never to set foot in this room again."

Silence crashed around the space where his words hung in the air. The coldness protected him from the pang he might have felt at his son's shocked and hurt countenance, and he spun around and left the room, leaving Trunks there by himself despite the words still ringing in both their ears.


	2. Nine

"So you're really gonna marry her, huh?"

Vegeta took another drink from his water bottle. It was becoming a habit with the two of them, one he could even almost admit to himself that he enjoyed, to spend a few peaceful moments after practice catching their breath, refreshing themselves with water and sometimes with words.

"Yes," he replied, though he could tell that was not his son's real question. Damned if he was going to answer an unspoken question, though, especially one from a nine-year-old.

"How come you didn't before?"

His son was growing bolder, after he had seen his father, emotionally speaking, with his pants down, and Vegeta mused blackly that this sort of thing had been why his own imminent death had been the only thing that could have possessed him to open up that far.

It wasn't so bad, though. Trunks was still exploring this new dimension to their relationship, and he was quick to retreat at the first sign of resistance. Sadly, Vegeta knew that would not last long, seeing as this was the boy who had once chewed through the metal bars of his crib just to get at his favorite toy. For now, though, he humored him.

"I didn't want to before."

"So why do you want to now?"

Just like his mother. That was rarely a good thing.

"It's complicated."

"That's what grown-ups say when they don't know the answer," Trunks said authoritatively. Just like his father, too, and that was only a good thing when it wasn't being turned against him. "How come?" he repeated, insistent.

Vegeta growled under his breath, but this conversation was going to have to happen sooner or later, and it might as well be now.

"Several reasons," he admitted. "I was not… certain… before that I wanted to remain with your mother on a permanent basis."

The nine-year-old took that solemnly. Vegeta was grateful he had instilled in his son from his earliest days the idea that what happened in the Gravity Room stayed in the Gravity Room. Nothing he said here would be repeated. That knowledge was the only thing that could get him through this.

"Besides, marriage is… not the same on Vegetasei. Only the royal family ever performed such a binding ceremony, for political reasons. Most Saiyans simply mated, bore children, and sent them off on infant missions or, if their power level was high enough, to be trained. I was supposed to… 'marry' my cousin Kini."

Trunks made a face.

"Your cousin?"

"She was a distant cousin," Vegeta protested, though she hadn't been that distant. Power level mattered far more than purity of blood, or distance of relation. His parents had actually been half-siblings, though most people had politely refrained from making a big deal of this, since Saiyans rarely experienced birth defects in their young, no matter how closely related the parents. He thought of scrawny, pale Tarble, suddenly, for the first time in years, and bit back a laugh.

"What was she like?" his son asked, surprising him.

"I don't know," Vegeta admitted. "I never met her."

"Why not?"

Vegeta shrugged.

"I probably would have, when I was older."

Trunks frowned, still thinking.

"But why are you getting married _now_?"

He knew what Trunks meant, but as adamant as he was against answering unspoken questions, this was a question he never wanted to answer at all.

"You mother always wanted a June wedding," he said, and was treated to a canny stare from his son that he honestly could not blame on just one of his parents. It had something of them both in it: piercing and knowing and disdainful.

"Dad, you proposed the _day _after that picnic with Goten's family."

"So?"

"So, I think you just don't want Gohan to get married before you."

Damn. Whichever parent he got his smarts from, he had too much of them.

"That's absurd. The boy can't even look at her without blushing; knowing him, he'll be an old man before he gets the balls to_ propose_."

"Come on, dad, everyone knows if he takes too long Videl will just make him do it. Or Chi-Chi. Goten says she's already buying wedding magazines."

"That woman is insane," Vegeta pronounced.

"Yeah, well, you don't have to do it so soon." Something in Trunks' voice was earnest enough that Vegeta studied him curiously and let him speak. "They're still in high school. They're probably not gonna get married for, like, years. You don't have to rush into things."

'Rush into things' was obviously not his phrase, but who on earth had he picked it up from? The harpy?

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded, not very harshly.

Trunks flushed pink and looked at anything but his father.

"You shouldn't get married if you don't want to," he muttered to his sneakers. "I know mom said all that stuff at the picnic, and maybe she's right, but she shouldn't force you into something like this."

Vegeta was floored. The brat had been so excited at the prospect of his parents getting married, just like everyone else in their ridiculous circle of friends. Why did the idea that his father was being coerced into it bother him so much? It wasn't as though the woman didn't coerce him into things all the time, much as it pinched his pride to admit it.

"No one is forcing me to do anything, brat," he pronounced. "I do this because I choose to."

"But why?"

His son was looking at him now, more than merely curious. Vegeta held his hopeful, blue-eyed gaze for as long as he could.

"That _is_ a complicated question," he said finally. "And maybe I don't know the answer. But no one is making me do it, understand?"

"Yeah," Trunks said, fighting to keep a smile off his face and losing. Vegeta shook his head, but the gesture was fond.


	3. Fifteen

"Daddy?"

He turned, and found Bra at the doorway to the Gravity Room instead of Trunks, sucking on her thumb and looking solemn. He finished taping up his hands as he studied her, trying to divine her reason for being there.

"Yes, Bra?" he asked.

"What you _do_ in here with Trunks?" she demanded, pulling her thumb out of her mouth with a wet pop.

"We train," he said carefully.

"Train to fight?"

"Yes."

She studied him in return, her gaze fathomless. She looked just like her mother, but she had so much of his manner in her it was disturbing. Trunks breezed in, late and still in his school clothes.

"Hey, squirt," he said, lifting Bra up onto his shoulder. "Time to get lost."

She squealed in displeasure, but only Vegeta saw the way she locked eyes with him, confident that her daddy would not allow her to be so summarily dismissed. He ignored the twinge he felt at the way it morphed into betrayal when he did nothing to stop Trunks from depositing her outside the room.

"We're practicing punches today," he told him as the door closed, and tried to dismiss his daughter from his mind.


	4. Seventeen, Part Two

"There are other things," Trunks said, toying with his glove, "you know. The training room… that was a bad example. I… I didn't mean to imply that… Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

Vegeta shut the door of the Gravity Room in his son's face.


	5. Thirteen

"Trunks!" Vegeta bellowed. "Open this door!"

The little deviant had actually reprogrammed the damn thing so that it would no longer accept his entry code. Bulma did like to brag that her son had inherited her brains, but for fuck's sake, he was only thirteen. This was his _mother's_ handiwork he was messing with. Aside from how grounded his ass was going to be when she got back from the moon or wherever the hell she'd run off to on business, _no one_ should be able to hack something Bulma Briefs had hand-built from scratch.

"Trunks, if you don't come out this instant I am never letting you see Goten again! I'll put you on a spaceship and aim it at the sun, you know I will! Don't make me break down this door—"

The lock disengaged, and Vegeta shoved the door open all the way. Trunks, shirtless and sweaty, turned away from his father and went back to punching the air, and Vegeta marched stiffly over to him, grabbed his arm, spun him around, and—Kami, the boy was _crying_.

Several angry phrases leaked out of Vegeta's brain and dripped out his ears. No. No, no, no. Not this, anything but this. He had _nightmares_ about this, this was why he'd gone through that mortifying conversation with goddamn _Dr. Briefs_ about human methods of contraception way back when he'd been nothing more than a homeless space pirate still trying (and failing) to tell himself that Bulma wasn't _that_ attractive. This was why he'd insisted she get her tubes tied after Trunks (though he was pretty sure she hadn't; the one time he'd brought it up lived in his brain as more nightmare fuel); this, _this_, was why he'd actually admitted (once; very drunk) to Bulma that he regretted killing Nappa, at least so casually, because the man had been forced to put up with _him_ as a teenager and damned if that didn't mean he deserved to go to heaven, or at least a very nice section of hell, not too much torturing and no, he was not crying, stupid woman, it was only a bottle of sake, he could hold his liquor just fine, dammit, what did she mean, _undiluted_?

He let go of Trunks' arm and stepped back awkwardly.

"Sorry," his son mumbled thickly, and his voice _cracked_, what the hell was he supposed to _do_ with that?

"Just don't do it again," he said gruffly, and looked away. Trunks began shuffling towards the door, sniffing, keeping his face averted as though ashamed, and Vegeta began to wonder what could possibly be so awful that it had his son actually shedding tears as he pounded out his frustrations on thin air for—what had it been, forty-five minutes? Had he been crying that whole time? He stuck an arm out to stop Trunks, hoping he could at least wheedle some creative sex out of Bulma for this.

"Talk," he commanded, his arm a solid bar. Trunks was surprised into looking up at his father, and his eyes were red and puffy like the woman's when she was really hormonal. Vegeta did his best not to look totally horrified.

"I'm _sorry_, okay?" Trunks repeated, more forcefully. "Jeez, can't I have a moment before you interrogate me?"

His voice had a stuffed-up quality to it, like he had a bad cold, and Vegeta's only consolation was that at least now the boy was angry instead of… whatever he had been.

"Your mother doesn't get back from her trip for another few days, so you may as well talk to me about… whatever's bothering you."

Trunks stared at him as though he'd just sprouted another head. Vegeta sighed. _Really_ creative sex…

"I mean it," he said, voice softer. "I can't promise I'll have any advice, but you can talk and I'll listen."

Vegeta let the boy size him up, keenly aware that this was out of character for him, but… dammit, he had turned out to be such a _sucker_ for tears, he should be grateful none of his enemies had ever cried at him, he'd have been dead ages ago.

"You really mean it?" Trunks asked, voice still thick from crying.

"I really mean it," Vegeta replied.

He never did get that creative sex from Bulma (she came back from her business trip early with the announcement that she was pregnant, wasn't that wonderful?) but afterwards Trunks was easier around him than he'd ever been, and that was worth it, in its own way.

But he was still making her get her tubes tied after this one, no matter what.


	6. Conversations That Never Happened

_Conversations That Never Happened_

"Dad, why does Yamcha hate you so much?"

"How come you don't want to kill Goten's dad anymore?"

"Why is mom pregnant again?"

"What did you and future me talk about in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber?"

"_How_ is mom pregnant again?"

"What happened to your tail?"

"What were you and mom _doing_ in here last night?"

"What was your home planet like?"

"Why are you growing a mustache? It looks stupid."

Vegeta looked at his son, disdain dripping from his expression.

"I couldn't care less what you think of my appearance," he said haughtily.

Trunks shook his head and went back to his pushups.


	7. Seventeen, Part Three

"Dad, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. I was stupid, and I was angry, and I shouldn't have said that. I apologized to mom and I apologized to Bra, and now I'm apologizing to you."

The boy's tone was angry, though, and Vegeta cursed as he shut off the holographic screen showing his son's face. He hadn't wanted Bulma to know he knew how to do that.


	8. Ten

"Goten's stronger than me."

The ten-year-old looked ashamed, but also angry, and Vegeta studied him for a moment before stepping aside. Trunks marched resolutely into the Gravity Room, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stopped in the middle of the room and turned back to his father expectantly. Vegeta stayed where he was, arms folded over his chest.

"So you're going to take up more of my training time to make up for it?" he said, but he allowed the bloom of pride in his chest to grow.

"I won't get in the way," Trunks insisted earnestly. "You can train at your level, and you don't even have to spar with me. It'll be like I'm not even here."

"You can't withstand my level," Vegeta said bluntly. Trunks set his mouth stubbornly.

"Yes, I can."

"Go Super Saiyan," Vegeta ordered, turning to the control panel. When he heard (and felt) the signs of his son's transformation, he dialed in his usual setting and let his finger hover over the start button. He turned his gaze to his son.

"I believe at our last session you had trouble at about 300, yes?"

Trunks nodded.

"I can move freely at up to 700 times earth's gravity," Vegeta informed him. "Would you like to see how that feels?"

His son nodded again, face still stubborn. Praying that he wasn't about to squish his only offspring, Vegeta pressed the button. The generators thrummed deeply, and Trunks grunted. Vegeta turned to watch him. The boy had his eyes screwed shut and his posture was bowed. Beads of sweat popped out on his skin, and he was grimacing, teeth bared. He opened one eye to look at his father, and, when he saw Vegeta watching, slowly straightened until he was standing tall. His breathing was still quicker than normal, and the sweat poured off him like rain, but he opened his eyes and forced his face into a more casual expression.

"No… sweat…" he grunted, and Vegeta felt the corner of his mouth lift in a small, self-satisfied smirk.

_That's my son._


	9. Seventeen, Part Four

"Dad…" Trunks' voice sounded tired. "It's been ten days. Mom says you don't even come to bed anymore. I just don't know what you want me to do. I've already apologized. I don't know what more you want. Whatever it is, I'll…"

His voice cracked. Vegeta opened the door.

"Get in here," he ordered, ignoring the pathetic expression on his son's face. He shut the door and stood, immobile, studying his son, who looked terrible.

"The hell's the matter with you?" he asked gruffly. Trunks' expression quirked briefly into annoyance.

"Oh, gee, dad, I dunno, just a little worried that I've done the impossible and mortally offended you. Just a few sleepless nights. No big deal or anything."

Vegeta snorted. Trunks glared.

"I'm serious. I know I crossed a line yelling at Bra, but don't you think you're overreacting?"

As he sometimes did during moments like these, Vegeta suddenly thought of Raditz. He'd only been about ten years older than him, and they had developed a kind of twisted camaraderie in their years together. For whatever reason, Raditz had never been able to take the younger boy very seriously, and Vegeta, though he found it annoying, had never quite been able to bring himself to kill him for his insolence. It had been kind of refreshing, in its own way: not being sucked up to or talked down to, but argued with, as equals. It had turned out to be one of his favorite pastimes.

"I was not in here sulking," Vegeta informed his son.

Trunks threw up his hands. "Then what?"

"…I was thinking."

The look his son gave him was frankly disbelieving.

"What _about_?"

Vegeta stood, arms folded over his chest, for a long moment. Then he spoke.

"You are wrong," he said. "I do not favor Bra over you. But I could, perhaps, stand to be more clear about why I treat her differently than I treated you."

Trunks looked shocked. Vegeta continued calmly.

"Trunks, I am not going to stand here and make excuses. I am a terrible father, and we both know this. When you were young, I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I even _had_ a son, much less whether I wanted to raise you or not. I had a shitty childhood myself, and I had no idea what a Saiyan father was supposed to do, much less a human one. So I did the only thing I could think of: I trained you." He paused, hoping Trunks would not take the opportunity to interrupt. He did not. "When… before I died… that was the first time it ever occurred to me that I could have done things differently. Your mother was always getting after me to be a better father, but I dismissed her advice and everyone else's because I hated the idea that I was doing it wrong. It occurred to me then that whether I had been doing it wrong or not didn't matter, because I had about thirty seconds left and I had to make them count. I…"

Vegeta passed a hand over his face, not wanting to look at Trunk's expression.

"When Bra was born I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that it took me eight goddamn years to tell you I was proud of you. I still don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do as a father, but I have some ideas about what _not_ to do, and damn it if I'm not going to do that much, at least. Playing favorites was hardly my intention, and I know you know that, so if you're waiting for an apology, you can forget it."

He stopped, the speech not having gone exactly as planned, but close enough. Trunks had his hands in his pockets, and was looking distinctly uncomfortable. There was a moment of silence during which Trunks poked the toe of his boot against the floor and fought down his embarrassment.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

"Hn."

"Am I—Can I—Am I still uninvited?"

"…no. This place is as much yours as it is mine."

The smile that spread all the way across Trunks' face made his stomach squirm, and he shoved the boy hard as he walked past him to the door. Trunks stumbled, laughing, and jogged to catch up to his father.

"What are you going to do if she does want to train someday?" he asked, as they walked back to the main compound, and Vegeta felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

"Kill myself," he deadpanned, and Trunks laughed again.

"Am I still grounded?" he asked hopefully.

"Hell yes," Vegeta said.

"Aw, dad…"

They walked back to the main compound together.


End file.
